


Disarmed

by thanku4urlove



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blushing, Getting Together, Hand-to-Hand Combat Instructor Jihoon, Kisses, M/M, Mingyu says please, Royal Guard in Training Mingyu, Sharing a Bed, Strangers to Lovers, fighting as flirting, use of the phrase "pretty boy"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29113128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanku4urlove/pseuds/thanku4urlove
Summary: Mingyu is a newly recruited soldier, training to be a member of the castle's Royal Guard. After taking one look at him, General Choi Seungcheol tells him that he should focus on combat training, namely swordsmanship and hand-to-hand. Mingyu is already decent with a sword, but he's never learned how to spar, so he's introduced to the training compound's new close combat instructor: a man named Lee Jihoon.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 99





	Disarmed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gyuglued](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyuglued/gifts).



> PJ!!!!!!!!! This is for you!!!!!!! What the heck!! It would not have been so late except you didn't tell me when your birthday was. But at least now I know hehe. Happy belated birthday dear ♡ ♡ (it's also late because it ended up being like 3k words longer than I meant it to be so WHOOPS, hopefully you don't mind)
> 
> additional warnings for gratuitous descriptions of sexy jihoon
> 
> Inspired by [ this tweet,](https://twitter.com/gyuglued_/status/1298176044084547584) which I've had bookmarked for literal months now

Mingyu had anticipated a couple of different things, had a couple of different sketches in mind for what his first day of training to become a member of the Royal Guard would be. Being gathered up and given a long introduction to the space and their superiors had thankfully been one of them, his mental preparation for it the only thing that had kept him from completely squirming out of his chair, seated in an open pavilion with thirty other new recruits. The warm breeze was nice, at least. 

They were to report to General Choi Seungcheol, a man that was clearly strong, not only in physique but in the way he held himself, his chin up, his hair short and dark. He was the one leading the gathering, introducing the other superior officers, saying when meals were served, and at what time the training compound was expected to be quiet and dark. They met the handful of the officers tasked with instructing them; two men that stood out in particular were the ones that were to be teaching them swordsmanship, Yoon Jeonghan and Xu Minghao. They both had their swords strapped to their hips, leather scabbards clean and hilts shining, looking equally sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, and sharp-witted. Lee Seokmin, a fellow recruit and Mingyu's friend from home, leaned back a bit, as though trying to shift away from them. Mingyu reached over to pat him on the shoulder. 

"There's another mentor being instated right now, so you'll have to introduce yourselves to him in your own time," Seungcheol said, waving a dismissive arm. “And… I think that’s all I have to say.” 

He glanced to the man to his right, someone he’d introduced as his own aide, a man named Boo Seungkwan. Seungkwan stepped forward. His voice was loud, more instructive than General Choi’s in a pointed, insistent way. 

“All of you have been placed on the eastern side of the barracks, so go find your beds. I’m going to take a few of you to help prepare supper for everyone, so be ready for that. If you get lost, find me instead, but know that I will have full reign to mock you for it.” 

With that, they were dismissed. Mingyu stretched his arms high up over his head, his breath swelling up in his chest and leaving his mouth in a sigh. Seokmin was shifting his weight from foot to foot next to him. The pavilion was emptying out rather quickly but Mingyu wasn’t in a rush, raising his eyebrows in Seokmin’s direction. 

“Want to go find our beds?” he offered, but before Seokmin could answer, someone else spoke. 

“Wait! You two haven’t moved yet,” came a voice, and Seungkwan and Seungcheol were walking up to them. Seungkwan pointed at Seokmin, who took a step back. “Can you cook?” 

“Um…” Seokmin glanced at Mingyu. Mingyu glanced back at him. “Kind of?” 

“That’s better than I was hoping for,” Seungkwan said. There were three new recruits hanging back behind Seungkwan, mirroring Seokmin’s hesitant expression; they had probably been ambushed in a similar way. “It’s enough. Come with me.” 

He turned and walked off without waiting for Seokmin to follow him, who had to hurry to catch up, sending one more look to Mingyu over his shoulder before he left. Seungcheol was watching them, a slight smile on his face. It was an expression that could almost be described as fond, Mingyu about to ask him about it when instead, Seungcheol turned to him. 

“So, your friend can cook,” he said. It seemed a bit like he was striking up a conversation just for the sake of breaking the silence, but Mingyu didn’t mind. “What can you do?”

Mingyu very nearly said that he was better at cooking than Seokmin was, but he hadn’t come here to get stuck in the kitchens. Besides, he wanted a better answer for the one man that it was probably in his best interest to impress. 

“I’m good with my hands,” he finally decided on. Seungcheol gave him a once-over. 

“Any combat training?” 

“A bit.” From a young age, Mingyu’s father had taken him out to the fields west of their house and fenced with him, first with wood, then with actual, blunted metal. Mingyu had done the same thing with his little sister, once she’d gotten old enough to begin begging to tag along. It displeased their parents, declaring it to be an unladylike activity, but she enjoyed it, so Mingyu continued to do it anyway. “Sword, mostly.” 

Seungcheol nodded. “Any hand-to-hand?” 

“What?” Mingyu shook his head. “No, none at all.”

“It would be a good skill for you,” Seungcheol said, and like Seungkwan had, began starting off without waiting to see if Mingyu would follow. Like Seokmin had, Mingyu had to hurry a bit, surprised at where the conversation had gone. “With your physique, I could see you being picked for Prince Chan’s personal entourage, so you should make it a main focus. The man training you all for it is new, but he should be near done with what he was busy with today. Perhaps you can meet him.” 

This felt like a bit of a privilege, meeting their hand-to-hand combat teacher before anyone else, Mingyu unsure if it was or not as he followed Seungcheol to one of the southernmost buildings, a modestly sized wooden structure with double doors. 

“He’s newer than most of the mentors here, but he’s extremely proficient,” Seungcheol continued, hauling one of the heavy doors open without much difficulty. “The previous instructor has been chosen to serve in the castle, so he’s… He's passing the mantle, so to speak.” 

There was a grin in his voice, Mingyu walking in to be met with the sight of two men in the middle of the floor, facing each other. They both looked to Seungcheol when he entered, who waved. Feeling nervous, Mingyu let himself watch over Seungcheol’s head. 

“Ready?” One of the men said. The other nodded, and without the heat or malice of an actual fight, the two men began to spar. 

They were extremely different. One was tall with broad shoulders and long limbs, his eyes big and unblinking as he took in his opponent. His movements were very defensive, able to lean and dodge, to block without getting too close, a ringing _smack_ going through the room as he caught a punch thrown his way with the flat of his wide, open palm. 

The man throwing the punches had his lips curled in concentration, his eyes sharp in their focus as he moved. He was short but fast, clearly strong, Mingyu glad he looked at him second because if it had been the other way around, he knew he wouldn’t have noticed the first man at all. He was transfixed as he watched; each of the man’s movements was purposeful, a startling amount of power behind them, advancing without hesitation, breathing in through his nose and out through pink, parted lips. 

“Which man is the new instructor?” Mingyu asked. In a flow of actions faster than Mingyu could properly follow, the tall man was knocked first to one knee, then completely onto his back. The shorter one was bent over him, his fist coming fast towards his opponent’s face, pulling the punch just in time, stopping his hand just an inch above the other man’s nose. 

“The man that just won,” Seungcheol said. “Lee Jihoon.”

As though in response to his name, Jihoon looked up. His chest was heaving, his mouth still open, his gaze still sharp as he met Mingyu’s eyes. A flush of heat ran through Mingyu’s entire body, and he glanced away.

“He’ll be teaching you,” Seungcheol said. Thankfully, he seemed not to notice Mingyu’s reaction. That, or he was kind enough not to mention it; Mingyu couldn’t quite tell. “I’ll ask him to tell me when you’re proficient. The castle will want to know.” 

Mingyu nodded. Seungcheol clapped him on the shoulder, exiting the building.

Mingyu didn’t see Jihoon for the rest of the evening. He didn’t see Jihoon again until night had already fallen, going to bed late after trying his best to talk with the other recruits and make friends. Moonlight streamed clear and bright through the high windows, and Mingyu knocked his hip into the frame of the bed next to his, stumbling and cursing under his breath, looking over in desperation, having seen from the corner of his eye that the bed was already occupied and hoping he hadn’t woken the sleeping soldier up. 

His throat went dry when he saw that it was Jihoon lying there, his head on the pillow, his blankets up to his chin, his expression calm. He was still asleep, and Mingyu used the moment to look at him, to take in the soft curve of his nose, the way his dark eyelashes fell against his pale cheeks. Mingyu wanted to call him cute, catching the thought and physically shaking his head. Lee Jihoon couldn’t be cute, with his quick fists and strong movements. Mingyu looked back at him again.

He kind of was, though. 

It was Jihoon’s voice that woke Mingyu the next morning, as well as a swift kick to his bed frame that shook his entire body. 

“You talk in your sleep, pretty boy.” His voice was a bit rough with drowsiness, and a bit higher than Mingyu expected it to be; Mingyu opened his eyes, met with the sight of Jihoon pulling his shirt down over his head. He was standing by his bedside getting dressed, Mingyu barely able to register the quick flash of skin and muscle before it was covered completely, the shirt dark and baggy. The fabric looked soft, though. 

“Sorry,” Mingyu murmured. 

“Get up.” Jihoon gave no indication that he had even heard the apology. “You’ll be late for breakfast.” 

Then he was gone. Mingyu took a few minutes to stare at the ceiling. 

He met up with Seokmin in the mess hall, who was instantly on him with a quick disaster of ideas about how he thought their first real day of training would go, half of his propositions absolute nightmares, the other half grandiose in their ridiculousness. But they were entertaining at least, and amusing to listen to, making Mingyu laugh. Then Seokmin had to tell him about the men whose beds were around his, especially the one that had snored so loud for so long that he’d barely been able to drift off.

“What about you?” Seokmin asked him. “How did you sleep last night?”

The question had Mingyu’s eyes searching the hall, pausing when they found Jihoon. He was seated between Seungcheol and Minghao, and something Seungcheol said to him had him laughing; his mouth opened and his eyes squeezed closed, his head tilting back, leaning so far from the table that if not for the strength in his core, he may have fallen completely. Mingyu found himself listening for it, unable to hear the sound over the loudness of the rest of the recruits, but the joy on his face was so open and genuine that a part of Mingyu felt that it wasn’t meant for him; that he shouldn’t be allowed to see it. 

The thought struck him again, so hard and fast that he wouldn’t have been able to counter it if he tried: Lee Jihoon was cute.

“Mingyu?” Seokmin was straining his neck, trying to see what Mingyu was looking at. It made Mingyu feel like he’d been caught staring, and he glanced away quickly, hitting himself in the lip rather hard with the force he used to lift his cup to his mouth. 

“Fine,” he said. “I’m fine! Today is going to be exciting!”

All his enthusiasm earned him was a raised eyebrow. 

Lee Jihoon was only a little less cute during sparring practice. He had his hands on his hips as the new recruits filed in, looking over them all. Mingyu felt Jihoon’s eyes linger and decided to look back, meeting his gaze for a long moment, treated to a raised eyebrow before Jihoon glanced away. 

He introduced himself, moving his arms as he spoke, his sentences short and blunt, a slight southeastern accent to his words. He’d tucked his shirt into his trousers, the loose clothing now form-fitting, showing the lines of his body as he moved. Thankfully, Mingyu found himself in the majority when it came to experience fighting in close combat; aside from a few drunken fights, many of the new recruits also had little to no experience.

“We’ll start with stances,” Jihoon said. “Then we’ll pair off.”

Mingyu found out very quickly that not only did he not know how to spar, but he was not very good at it. He felt like a young boy again, before he was fully mindful of his long limbs, always covered in bruises from his knuckles to his knees. He was so painfully clumsy that he ended up hitting himself in the face, and as luck would have it, Jihoon was standing beside him when it happened, watching and waiting to give instruction. Instead, he burst out laughing.

“Don’t…” Jihoon seemed to realize, once he’d regained his breath, that he was supposed to be teaching. He schooled his expression back into something serious. “Just… don’t do that.”

“Noted,” Mingyu responded, more under his breath than anything else, but there was a slight upturn to Jihoon’s lips at the word, the light of amusement still in his eyes as he walked away. 

Jihoon stopped by often to correct him, and Mingyu couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or not when, after watching him try to throw punches, Jihoon’s lips pinched together in a frown.

“You’re all dismissed!” he declared, most directly talking to Mingyu’s sparring partner, and not talking to Mingyu at all. He stood in front of Mingyu, his hands up by his chest, palms open. “Hit.” 

Mingyu hesitated, the room beginning to clear out. Jihoon raised his eyebrows and nodded at him, so Mingyu did, connecting his fist to the palm of Jihoon’s left hand. It was like hitting a wall, Jihoon’s arm staying still, his balance solid.

“Pivot with your back foot,” Jihoon told him. “Again.” 

Mingyu punched his right hand this time, a little harder. Again, no part of Jihoon moved. 

“Arm straight,” he said. “Again.” 

Mingyu did, hitting at him again, again, again. Sometimes Jihoon had a correction, sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes Mingyu missed his hand completely, more focused on the way his body was moving than where his fist ended up. It was a bit irritating, a bit embarrassing to have been held back like this after everyone else was dismissed, Mingyu finding himself wondering how good Jihoon was with a sword. 

“The last three were correct,” Jihoon finally said, dropping his hands. The words were a surprise, Mingyu too caught up in the rhythm of moving to stop the next fist he’d thrown in Jihoon’s direction. Jihoon side-stepped him easily, grabbing his arm. 

“Too slow, pretty boy,” he said, squeezing his wrist before letting go. Mingyu let his arm fall to his side, the skin Jihoon had closed his fingers around feeling hypersensitive. “You’re dismissed.” 

He turned away to begin cleaning, and after watching him for a moment, watching the way his shirt shifted over the curves from his shoulders to his waist, Mingyu turned to leave. 

Jihoon woke him again the next morning. It was another kick to his bed frame, another sleepy murmur that Mingyu wasn’t aware enough to catch, though he was pretty sure he heard the word “pretty” again. He drew his eyebrows together without opening his eyes, trying to sit up, finding his muscles yelling in protest. He was _sore._

He let out a groan and rolled onto his side, hearing a breathy laugh from the bed next to his and letting his eyes open. 

Jihoon was in the process of turning away from him, again only half dressed, and this time Mingyu was awake enough to watch the muscles in Jihoon’s back move as he picked his shirt up from the small folded pile at the end of his bed, unfolded it, and pulled it over his head. He pulled on his socks and laced on his boots, seemingly aware Mingyu was watching, but not commenting on it. He didn’t even look at Mingyu until he was finished, straightening up. 

“You’ll miss breakfast,” he warned again, and he was gone. 

Mingyu learned over the following days that Jihoon was a creature of habit. He always woke Mingyu at the same time and sat at the same table for breakfast, regardless of who sat around him. He completed his own training exercises first, then taught sparring to the recruits, cleaned the building, cleaned himself, set out clothes to wear the following day, got in bed, and slept. The more Mingyu observed this routine, the more he found that the last thing he wanted to do was fall into the background of it, to just blend in with the rest of the scenery of Jihoon’s day. 

After thinking for a couple of days and getting nowhere on how to actually accomplish that, Mingyu simply reigned in all the confidence he could muster and sat down across from Jihoon at breakfast. Jihoon hadn’t noticed his approach, too concerned with eating, unrestrained surprise on his face as he watched Mingyu sit down. 

“Good morning,” Mingyu greeted, giving him a smile. Jihoon blinked. “How did you sleep?”

“Oh,” he finally said. Then, after another moment, “fine.” 

Mingyu nodded a bit. “Fine is good.” 

Jihoon was usually confident while teaching, even if he called Mingyu aside and it was just the two of them; the awkwardness with which Jihoon was handling this bit of casual conversation was unexpected. It was still early morning though, so Mingyu let it slide. They sat in silence for a few more moments, but very quickly Mingyu found himself unable to stand it.

“I have a bruise,” he said. “You know, from yesterday.” 

The day before, Mingyu had managed to drive the point of his elbow rather hard into his thigh in an attempt to kick his leg up. He’d yelped out a curse, the skin blossoming up blue almost immediately. Pressing on it hurt more than any of the other bruises Mingyu had ever had, and Jihoon’s lips quirked upwards as he shifted his food around his plate before glancing at Mingyu’s face. 

“I told Seungcheol that you were hopeless,” Jihoon said, a surprised laugh leaving Mingyu’s mouth. 

“That’s unfair,” Mingyu protested.

“You’re bad at it, though.”

Mingyu tried to think of a defense, then realized he didn’t have one.

“Okay. Fine.” 

His begrudging acceptance had Jihoon laughing. It was a bright, unrestrained sound, and it seemed to light some spark in Mingyu’s body, unable to move his eyes from the mirth on Jihoon’s face. Lee Jihoon was _cute._ “But I can get better. You may not believe me, but I actually am quite good at most other things.” 

“No, you’re good. I’m sure you’re good.” There was an amused light in Jihoon’s eyes as they met Mingyu’s, his words lighting another spark in Mingyu; a desire to prove it. Jihoon’s giggles were subsiding, and Mingyu had the near-desperate want to start them up again, struggling to reign himself back in. 

“General Choi wanted me to focus on combat,” Mingyu explained. “Both sword and hand-to-hand.”

“He told me.” Jihoon’s eyes flicked up and down his body in a way that had Mingyu trying not to squirm. “I’ve heard your swordsmanship is rather satisfactory.”

“It is,” Mingyu responded. “In truth, you’re my only problem.” 

Jihoon grinned at that, shifting his eyes back down to his breakfast. Mingyu, meanwhile, was struck with a thought.

“Could you teach me?” he asked. Jihoon blinked up at him.

“I am teaching you,” he answered, the words blunt, and Mingyu gave a quick shake of his head, a quick wave of his arm. 

“No, additional time. Like you did the first day, after the rest of the class has left.” Jihoon was simply sitting there and looking at him, and Mingyu couldn’t tell if he was considering the request or not, so he decided to make an offer. “I can help you clean up afterwards, if you want. Cleaning is one of my many skills.” 

Jihoon had a muted smile on his face again. It caused small dimples to pop near the corners of his mouth. 

“Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll teach you.”

They started at the beginning, with proper stances and movements. It was supposed to be simple, the difficulty coming in doing it properly over and over, doing it properly in succession, doing it properly until the action etched itself into Mingyu’s muscles and it was impossible for him to do it wrong, even if he tried. 

Getting to that point came more quickly than Mingyu expected it to, probably due to the sheer amount of repetition. The ache in his arms and his core was fierce, so strong and heavy and deep that Mingyu began allowing himself to whine about it in front of Jihoon when their training sessions were declared over and it was time to begin cleaning. Jihoon never seemed to get annoyed at him for it, smiling slightly, or laughing when Mingyu turned up the dramatics a little too much. The spark of pride Mingyu got at relaxing Jihoon enough to make him laugh made it worth it, giving him the energy to actually get the building cleaned. 

The muscle soreness made everything else harder too, Jihoon fully laughing at him one morning when Mingyu almost dropped his breakfast onto the table instead of setting it gently down, yelping at the unexpected failing of his arms. Despite his amusement, Jihoon still reached out quickly to catch his bowl for him. 

“Are you okay?” Seokmin asked. Unwilling to abandon his friend, Mingyu had managed to convince Seokmin that Jihoon wasn’t the scary instructor he seemed to be, and for them all to eat breakfast together. Seokmin still got a bit nervous when the other officers came to sit with them as well, especially Seungcheol and Jeonghan, but he’d grown more comfortable around Jihoon. 

“My arms hurt,” Mingyu explained with a sigh. Then, in the face of Seokmin’s concern, “I’m fine.” 

Jihoon reached over, placing his fingertips on Mingyu’s left shoulder. The touch was surprising, even more so when Jihoon trailed his hand down to Mingyu’s bicep, massaging the muscle with his fingers. It had Mingyu frozen in his seat, looking first at Jihoon’s fingers—slender and gentle, with pink nail beds—to his face—turned away, eyes down, pointedly not looking at Mingyu. When Jihoon drew his hand back his ears were bright red, and when Mingyu finally managed to catch Jihoon’s gaze, he gave him a smile. Jihoon smiled back, the expression still on his face as he glanced away. 

Once Jihoon deemed Mingyu able to properly throw a punch he stood in front of him for a couple of moments, sizing him up, then saying, 

“Try to hit me.” 

“I…” Mingyu was struck, very suddenly, with how much he didn’t want to do that. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t.” Jihoon sounded confident. He looked confident too, completely unbothered, leaning a bit to one side. He had most of his weight on his right foot, a hip cocked, arms crossed. The lazy heat of the day had put a damp glow on his skin. “Don’t worry.” 

“Jihoon—”

So fast that Mingyu barely saw it, Jihoon hit Mingyu in the abdomen, right below the ribs. It wasn’t a hard punch but the surprise had him stumbling back a few paces, the location of the strike knocking air from his lungs. 

“If you’re not going to hit, at least try to block,” Jihoon reprimanded. 

“But I didn’t know you would—” 

Jihoon struck again. Mingyu was more on guard, able to block the punch this time, Jihoon’s fist connecting with his forearm instead. It felt like a victory, but it was short-lived; Jihoon simply swung out with his other arm, hitting Mingyu in the side. Grunting a bit, Mingyu tried to grab at him, but Jihoon danced out of reach, a grin on his face. It was a bit mischievous, a bit amused, and Mingyu set his shoulders in determination.

Mingyu didn’t manage to touch Jihoon the entire sparring session. Despite the solid, stable advancing power Jihoon had shown the first time Mingyu had seen him, he was on the defensive now, dodging and ducking, slipping past him. 

“Too slow. Slow. Slow.” 

Eventually Mingyu got fed up and rushed him, using his long limbs to his advantage, aiming to grab Jihoon and just hoist him off his feet, like he would when wrestling with his little sister. A loud, surprised laugh left Jihoon’s mouth when he realized what Mingyu was trying to do, bounding backwards on the balls of his feet. 

Mingyu had chased him halfway across the room before Jihoon switched, going on the offensive. He grabbed Mingyu’s arm and pulled; unsteady on his feet, Mingyu stumbled, and Jihoon hit his abdomen again, squarely in the stomach this time. When he doubled over, Jihoon put his fingertips to Mingyu’s forehead. It kept his head from ducking all the way down, just enough for Jihoon to look him in the eyes. 

“Bad form,” he scolded. Mingyu tried to land a hit to Jihoon’s side while both Jihoon’s hands and eyes were on him, but Jihoon was out of the way before his arm had even finished its arc. “Too slow, pretty boy.” 

It took three more days for Mingyu to actually land a punch on him, and even then he couldn’t tell if it had actually been a lucky shot, or if Jihoon had let him do it. Jihoon was not having the same issue; he often hit his knuckles on Mingyu’s chest and arms, the tap only hard enough to leave a light sting. When his fist was aimed at Mingyu’s face, he pulled the punch completely, which Mingyu appreciated. 

It felt bizarre, spending time actively trying to hit Jihoon, when Mingyu was spending so much more of his time adoring him. He knew he was being more open about it with his words and expressions, but he couldn’t help himself; Jihoon was oh-so easy to adore, and seemed not to mind it. They didn’t talk much while sparring, but definitely did while cleaning afterwards, Mingyu doing his best to figure Jihoon out, clinging to every word. 

He discovered that Jihoon was an only child. That Jihoon frequently sent letters to his mother. That Jihoon had learned sparring from a childhood friend, a man named Soonyoung who had decided to stay at home and help tend to his family’s farm, despite being the best person at hand-to-hand combat that Jihoon had ever known. Jihoon often sent letters to him, too.

He discovered that physical touch turned Jihoon’s ears so red that they looked in danger of catching fire, and if Mingyu decided to tease him about it, he would go a shade darker and find a way to knock Mingyu to the floor, which wasn’t difficult. He wouldn’t apologize for any resulting bruises either, but laughed when Mingyu whined about them, which to Mingyu was just as good, if not better. 

He discovered that Jihoon was particular with the foods he liked, watching to see what those foods were, then getting a similar meal when he could. As he’d hoped, it had Jihoon stealing food from his plate, grinning a bit when Mingyu didn’t try to stop him. Mingyu sat next to Jihoon to make it even easier, rewarded further by Jihoon occasionally leaning against him, just a bit. Mingyu didn’t mention it, just sitting up straight and trying not to smile too much. 

Mingyu didn’t realize how much he was improving until he began winning matches in class. He could react quicker and block better, using his size and stature to knock his opponent off their feet. Jihoon didn’t correct him much in front of the other students anymore, but still had plenty to fix in private. It was hard to tell the full extent of Jihoon’s skill; aside from how he’d trained his reflexes, he knew moves, knew tricks that Mingyu didn’t, disarming him with one before teaching Mingyu how to do it himself, positioning his arm and wrist with gentle fingers. Once Mingyu had it learned, he would try to use it the next time they sparred, only for Jihoon to block or counter with something new that Mingyu hadn’t seen, and the process began all over again. 

“You’re a quick learner,” Jihoon commended. Mingyu had landed a good number of hits on him today and he was breathing hard, using the inside of his wrist to wipe at a drop of sweat that was trailing down his temple. “You’re doing good, Mingyu.” 

Mingyu’s chest was heaving, a few spots on his shoulders and arms stinging from using them to block Jihoon’s fists. He’d made his way to the floor, sitting and leaning back against his palms, his arms braced behind him. The praise was nice, warm, Mingyu letting his head fall back onto one shoulder, his eyes closed. When he opened them again, Jihoon was looking at him. 

They had a day free of training, the instructors sent to the castle to report back to the captain of the Royal Guard about how the recruits were progressing. Mingyu spent the morning with Seokmin, deciding to take up his afternoon by cleaning his bedspace. Jihoon was back by the early evening, and caught Mingyu replacing now-clean sheets on Jihoon’s bed. He walked up, looking at Mingyu curiously. 

“I washed our sheets,” Mingyu said quickly. “Or, yours and mine. Both.” 

“Okay,” Jihoon said after a moment. Mingyu had hoped he could get this completed before Jihoon returned, feeling flustered and off-balance. 

“I got carried away,” he explained, which was the truth; Jihoon’s bed had just been there, unmade, and the next thing Mingyu knew he had a pile of laundry in his arms. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s fine.” Jihoon stepped a bit closer, running a reassuring hand down Mingyu’s arm, hesitating as his fingers touched the back of Mingyu’s hand before pulling away. He picked up a shirt that was sitting on his pillow, looking at Mingyu again. 

“Oh, that was folded up in your sheets,” Mingyu explained. “I accidentally washed it too. I apologize.” 

“It’s fine,” Jihoon said again. “Thank you, Mingyu.” 

“It’s a nice shirt,” Mingyu said. It was one of Mingyu’s favorites, though Jihoon didn’t wear it often; simple and black, the neckline a sharp triangle that cut just a bit down Jihoon’s pale chest, strings crossed over the open space to tie up if desired. Jihoon usually left it untied, and it was all Mingyu had not to reach over and play with the strings. 

The very next day, Mingyu walked into the mess hall to see Jihoon wearing the shirt, talking casually with Minghao. He didn’t acknowledge Mingyu as he sat down—across from Jihoon this time, better for staring at him—though Mingyu did note the tips of his ears going pink. 

Mingyu refrained from mentioning it until they were alone, until they were halfway through one-on-one sparring practice, coming back together after taking a break. He looked at Jihoon, Jihoon looking back for only a moment before speaking. 

“What?”

“Did you wear this shirt for me?” 

Jihoon’s muted smile was back. Mingyu’s eyes caught again on his dimples, stepping up and reaching out, letting himself tug on one of the strings.

“You think highly of yourself,” Jihoon remarked. “It was already set out. It was clean.” 

“And I told you that I liked it,” Mingyu added and Jihoon, smiling even wider, rolled his eyes. He reached up for Mingyu’s hand; expecting Jihoon to bat him away, Mingyu let his hold on the string go lax, but Jihoon simply curled his fingers around the back of his hand instead, and his hand ended up on Jihoon’s chest, palm flat, feeling Jihoon’s collar bone under his middle knuckles. 

Jihoon wasn’t backing away from him. Jihoon wasn’t looking away from him. His eyes were on Mingyu’s face, and after a moment he curled the left side of his bottom lip in to tuck it between his teeth.

“Jihoon—” Mingyu started, but the name was barely past his lips, he’d barely begun to say it when Jihoon used his free hand to strike Mingyu in the shoulder with the flat of his palm. It was so unexpected that it had him reeling back, unbalanced, and instead of helping him Jihoon curled a leg around Mingyu’s own, hitting the back of Mingyu’s knee with his heel. The leg bent involuntarily and Mingyu fell to the ground, Jihoon stepping away a few paces, very clearly trying not to laugh. 

“Come on,” he said, holding his fists up to his chest. “Let’s go.” 

Despite Jihoon’s undeniable ability to beat him, Mingyu knew that he was getting better. He was stronger, faster, sharper; he could take on anyone else in the sparring class, and even if he didn’t win, knew he could put up a good fight. In truth, he probably didn’t need the extra lessons anymore. 

He wasn’t going to tell Jihoon that, though. 

As it was now, the lessons didn’t quite feel like teaching sessions anymore anyway. They would talk until the room cleared out, then spar until they were out of breath, pulling punches and dancing around each other. Jihoon would still critique him, would still correct something he had messed up or tell him how to do it better, Mingyu nodding and trying to keep it in mind as he moved. They broke apart and rushed back together until they were exhausted, but it was always Mingyu that called to stop, always Mingyu who would get water for them, Jihoon watching and receiving the drink with thanks. They leaned against a wall or sat on the floor, getting their breath back, then pulled themselves up and cleaned the place. 

It was never very dirty. Mingyu always tried to drag it out for as long as he could. 

Today though, it was Jihoon that called for a break. He wasn’t fighting as well as he usually did, his reactions a little too slow, lingering a little too long. He seemed almost frustrated with it, Mingyu unsure if he should ask about it or not. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Jihoon looking at him. So he decided to pull the bottom edge of his shirt up and wipe at his face with it. 

There was a loud cough from across the room and then Jihoon wasn’t looking at him anymore, walking to the center of the floor and barking at him to hurry up so they could get back to sparring. When Mingyu approached him, Jihoon wasted no time going on the offensive; Mingyu blocked the first swing, the second one hitting him in the side, and he grunted in surprise. Hard, firm, and solid; Jihoon wasn’t holding back, his sharp gaze punctuated by the small mole under his left eye, putting his full power and strength into his movements. He wasn’t pulling any punches.

 _Oh._ Two could play that game. 

It took three swings, but Mingyu hit him back. Jihoon clearly didn’t expect the force Mingyu used but he took it in stride, moving with it to lessen the impact. The retaliation hardened his resolve, the change obvious on his face, and then they were fighting. 

Jihoon was so _fast,_ striking out and backing away, using his arms and his legs, trying to get behind Mingyu. Mingyu worked hard to not get distracted by his own ability to keep up; he was blocking more than he was actually hitting back, but he was still moving, still getting a few swings in when he could. 

It was also hard not to get distracted by Jihoon himself, sweat wetting his shirt and his skin, his lips parted, his chest heaving. He was so focused, and the force of the impact behind each hit he landed on Mingyu’s body was so stunning, and Mingyu felt he could get dizzy just looking at him. 

Mingyu couldn’t tell if he was pushing forwards or if Jihoon was letting him advance, but he began forcing Jihoon backwards, gaining ground. Confidence growing, he decided to try something he’d seen Jihoon do, had felt Jihoon do to him, wanting to use his leg to slip Jihoon up. It wasn’t a trick Jihoon had ever formally taught him, something he’d picked up on just by watching, and while Jihoon was definitely surprised by the attempt, it didn’t catch him quite off guard enough. He sidestepped before countering the action with his own footwork, Mingyu’s leg slipping under him, and then he was flat on his back on the ground. He hit hard and Jihoon stepped over him, his feet boxing Mingyu’s ribs in on both sides, crouching over him. He was so close, Mingyu glancing away, lifting up on his elbows, breathing hard. Jihoon wasn’t done, taking Mingyu’s chin in his hand, his thumb pressing into Mingyu’s bottom lip as he tilted Mingyu’s face to his. 

“Too slow, pretty boy.”

Mingyu felt his entire body go hot. One of the arms he was propping himself up with failed him, slipping even closer to the ground, his legs bending at the knees, one of them curling in. He could feel how pink his face was, and knew Jihoon could too; none of the reaction, involuntary as it was, had been missed by Jihoon, and the surprise was obvious on his face. But again, he wasn’t backing away. He was just looking at him. 

Mingyu’s breath was heavy, loud in his own ears, slightly off rhythm with Jihoon’s own, who took one more deep inhale before closing his mouth. Then he slid his thumb off Mingyu’s lip, releasing his face and pulling his hand away, almost drawing back completely before Mingyu reached up and grabbed his shirt. 

It made Jihoon stop and Mingyu fully sat up, letting himself get close. He couldn’t stand Jihoon being any farther away, or having Jihoon’s hands no longer on him. 

“Jihoon.” He wasn’t even sure what it was he wanted, wanting it so much that he didn’t know how to articulate it. He was leaning in, turning his face up towards Jihoon’s, saying his name again. “Jihoon, please—”

Jihoon surged forwards and kissed him. 

It was rough at first, Jihoon knocking Mingyu’s lip into his teeth, Mingyu whining and gasping and grabbing at him. Jihoon swallowed the sound down and kissed him again, sliding a hand into Mingyu’s hair, curling his fingers and tilting Mingyu’s head back, licking into his mouth, biting at him, Mingyu digging his fingertips into the small of Jihoon’s waist and letting his mouth open. Jihoon kissed like he wanted to devour him, and all Mingyu wanted was to let him do it.

He tugged Jihoon down, Jihoon complying easily, getting closer until he was on his knees, one pressed into the ground between Mingyu’s legs, the other outside Mingyu’s left hip. Mingyu didn’t want to breathe but eventually he had to, and when he pulled back Jihoon did too, his eyes a bit big, a touch of surprise mixed into everything else about his expression. 

“Jihoon,” he murmured again, because his mind was blank of everything else, pressing his face into Jihoon’s neck. Jihoon’s fingers were still in his hair, sliding as Mingyu lifted his head to press their foreheads together, up by the strands around his ears. 

“Mingyu?” Jihoon asked, and something about hearing Jihoon say his name made him blush again. Jihoon drew back at the reaction, his hands trailing down to rest on Mingyu’s shoulders, his eyebrows going up his forehead as a smile broke out across his face.

“Hi,” Mingyu murmured. 

“Hello,” Jihoon said back, and Mingyu pressed another kiss to his lips. It was considerably gentler than before, but when Jihoon sighed against his mouth, Mingyu felt almost lightheaded with it.

“So...” he pursed his lips, but could feel the muted smile on his face anyway. “I like you very much.” 

Jihoon laughed, bright, sliding his thumb across one of Mingyu’s cheekbones.

“I know,” he responded, “and so did my friends. You were not good at being private about it.” 

Mingyu felt a second wave of warm embarrassment wash over his body and he released Jihoon, who got up off of him in turn, sitting next to him, his eyes still on Mingyu’s face. 

“Oh,” was all he said, and Jihoon nodded a bit. 

“It was… disarming,” he confessed. “It frightened me.” 

“Sorry,” Mingyu murmured, and again Jihoon nodded, though he reached out and put a hand on Mingyu’s knee. 

“I wondered if I should ignore you or not.”

The words were so blunt and unexpected that a quick bark of laughter left Mingyu’s mouth. 

“But…” Jihoon was smiling at him, and Mingyu didn’t understand. “You just kissed me.”

“You took the decision away from me,” Jihoon accused, lifting his hand to swat at Mingyu’s knee instead. Mingyu didn’t know what that meant. 

“Oh?” 

“You are impossible to ignore.” Jihoon’s eyes left his face and he reached out, poking Mingyu’s bicep. Mingyu had rolled his sleeves up his shoulders when their sparring session began; about when the look of frustration had crossed Jihoon’s face, Mingyu realized. Jihoon’s finger pressed into the muscle, the nail bed blanching white. “And you are humiliatingly distracting.” 

Mingyu flared up pink again and Jihoon poked his nose too, flattening it against his face. Mingyu liked Jihoon’s attention, liked it an embarrassing amount, but if Jihoon kept complimenting him like this he feared he may pass out. 

“You are too,” Mingyu said. The words came out nasally instead of sweet, and Jihoon burst into laughter immediately, his body going so limp with it that he fell into Mingyu’s lap. He rolled completely onto his back once the breath had returned to his lungs, his head on Mingyu’s thigh; he was like a cat, his belly exposed, open and trusting and happy. 

“Come on,” he said, though he made no sign of getting up. “We should clean.” 

“Sure,” Mingyu agreed, knowing he wouldn’t get up until Jihoon did, leaning down to kiss him instead. Neither of them moved for a good while.

As he usually did, Jihoon got ready for bed before Mingyu, in his sleep clothes and in bed. Not his own bed, though; he was tucked under Mingyu’s blankets, his head on Mingyu’s pillow, and Mingyu blinked down at him, his heart in his throat. 

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Jihoon asked. His words were casual; his ears were pink. Mingyu got in bed, and there wasn’t quite enough room for the both of them to lie side by side but that didn’t matter, Jihoon wrapping his arms around Mingyu’s waist, pressing his face into Mingyu’s back. Mingyu swallowed, his heart in his throat. He hadn’t expected this much this soon, and while he didn’t mind, he was unsure of how to handle it. He felt like he needed to confess his endearment to Jihoon again, like he hadn’t yet done it enough to deserve this affection. 

As if able to hear his thoughts, Jihoon pressed the flat of his palm to Mingyu’s abdomen, his thumb rubbing a slow, comforting circle on his lower belly. 

“Goodnight, Mingu.” 

“Goodnight,” Mingyu murmured back, and Jihoon pressed a kiss to his shirt, right between his shoulder blades, Mingyu feeling a smile bloom across his face. 

He must have moved in his sleep, because he woke facing Jihoon. Instead of being roused by Jihoon’s voice or a kick to his bed frame, there was a soft touch to his forehead. Jihoon was trailing a finger across his face, down his nose, over his cheek. 

“Pretty boy,” Jihoon murmured, his voice soft, tracing Mingyu’s lips with his fingertip. Mingyu leaned in and kissed him.

Since they hadn’t discussed not doing it, once sparring practice was over for the day Mingyu hung back for extra practice. Jihoon turned to him with a grin, and Mingyu held his fists in front of his chest defensively. The stance had Jihoon laughing, his head falling back with it as he approached Mingyu, covering Mingyu’s fists with his hands. 

“What?” Mingyu asked, and instead of answering Jihoon beckoned him to lean down. Mingyu did, Jihoon reaching up with one hand to hold the back of his neck, tugging him down farther to kiss his mouth. He’d left the other hand on Mingyu’s, rubbing Mingyu’s hand with his thumb as he pulled back. “Are we not sparring today?”

“You don’t need it,” Jihoon told him, “and you know that.” 

Mingyu ducked his head, embarrassed at being caught, and Jihoon chuckled. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, pretending to punch at Jihoon’s side; trying to play coy and failing miserably. Jihoon raised an eyebrow.

“Mingyu, you’re my best student,” Jihoon told him. “You don’t need lessons.”

“But I like them,” Mingyu protested, still leaned down, Jihoon playing with the hair at the back of his neck. 

“I liked them too. It put this spark in your eye and it got you all sweaty.” 

That made Mingyu burst into giggles, Jihoon laughing too, reaching up and pinching the top of his ear. 

“You blush easily,” he accused. “It’s embarrassing.” 

“I…” He tangled his fingers with Jihoon’s. “I like you. You know that.”

“Yes.” Jihoon laughed a little. Then, “good.” 

“Good?”

Jihoon shrugged, nodding. “I like you too.” 

The words were simple but Mingyu hadn’t heard them yet, and when Jihoon took a step towards him, Mingyu enveloped Jihoon in his arms, linking his fingers behind Jihoon’s back to hold him close. 

“I’m going to have to tell Seungcheol you’ve improved,” Jihoon said. Mingyu looked down at him. 

“Won’t that mean I’ll have to go to the castle?”

“Maybe.” Jihoon shrugged. “But they’ve been calling for me too. I was a new recruit last summer; I wasn’t supposed to teach here forever.”

“So you’ll come with me, then?” 

“I hope so.” The words were more candid than Mingyu expected them to be, looking down to see that it was Jihoon, this time, who was blushing. Mingyu liked that _very_ much. 

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I liked having you in my bed.” He pressed his forehead to Jihoon’s again, who went completely pink at the words. “I could get used to waking up to you.”

“You still talk in your sleep.” 

“I don’t!” Mingyu exclaimed, and Jihoon began to laugh, reaching up to touch the side of Mingyu’s face. 

“You called me cute three mornings ago. I wanted to argue, but your eyes were closed.”

“That’s good for you, then. It was an argument you would have lost.” 

Jihoon didn’t try to refute that, rolling his eyes instead and hitting Mingyu in the chest. But Mingyu still had him pulled close in a hug, and when he swayed backwards he took Jihoon’s body with him, who let out a noise of surprise at the loss of balance before Mingyu righted himself again. 

“Let me go.” Jihoon protested.

“If I let you go, you’ll knock me down again.” 

“You weren’t complaining, the last time.” The words were already teasing, becoming more so when Jihoon saw his cheeks going pink again. Mingyu decided he didn’t have a rebuttal, but instead of admitting that Jihoon was right, leaned down. Jihoon, his fingers slender and warm, replaced his hand on Mingyu’s cheek.

Mingyu couldn’t help smiling into the next kiss, happiness swelling in his chest as Jihoon laughed against his mouth before kissing him back. 

**Author's Note:**

> tl;dr:  
> Jihoon, the big spoon, half asleep: I could kick your ass right now  
> Mingyu, affectionate: I know
> 
> I'm also on twitter [ here!](https://twitter.com/thanku4urIove)


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